


An Audience

by shiverelectric



Series: Shiver's Sherlock Ficlets [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, violin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-29
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 09:41:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiverelectric/pseuds/shiverelectric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A violin, like genius, did like an audience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Audience

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [oatmealjumper's gif set](http://oatmealjumper.tumblr.com/post/14943004628).

It liked to be held  _just so_  within his warm hands. He knew how to strum out the most delicate of notes as well as bang out harsh thrums of the deepest staccato. How all depended on the mood, and it was always up for it.

So it was no surprise when Sherlock decided to tap and trip neither here nor there when his brother arrived, or spill discordant notes into the air to hurry his retreat. It was all in a day of working out his various annoyances with the elder Holmes. There was even a sort of perverse pleasure to be had for its part in the precedings. The violin, like genius, did like an audience.

But it really shined when Sherlock was in not a thoughtful mood (for those were given to the patches and the sofa), but an  _emotional_  one, and oh, those were few and far between and owned only by the violin. In those times Sherlock would lift the violin from its case and gracefully slot it into place beneath his chin and within his hand. With a touch of the bow, such sounds that were drawn from the strings. Soaring  _legatos_ , low melodies that spoke of the whirl of feelings the man could no longer repress. The violin arched underneath his fingers to sing out loud what was never spoken.

And then one night, during a performance meant for none, John Watson stood within the doorway, transfixed into silence and stillness by the music man and instrument made together. Sherlock knew he was no longer alone, but only changed his arietta slightly, a note of disguised hope coloring the tune. The wishes and desires therein were plain to the violin as the care and strength Sherlock used to convey them. A less expressive instrument would wonder if it made the meaning clear to the listener, but not the violin, and especially not _this_  violin.

When the last note was left hanging in the air, Sherlock let his bow hand fall to his side, violin still held tucked in place. And when John moved to stand beside Sherlock, to lay fingers gently atop Sherlock’s, the final soft vibrations were muffled, satisfied.


	2. Late Night Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the first strains of notes filtered through John's door, he tensed, preparing himself for yet another late night torture session on the violin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written before An Audience, but I realized it can be read as a prequel companion piece of sorts.

When the first strains of notes filtered through John's door, he tensed, preparing himself for yet another late night torture session on the violin. It was a wonder the poor thing was still in the shape it was given how much Sherlock musically abused it.

But tonight, he could tell, was different, where there was usually a sharp screeching, instead was a soft warm-up of sorts that eventually melted into a easy melody. John listened for a while, hearing Sherlock put himself through his paces, from the sound of it.

Eventually he was lulled into a sense of security that the soothing song being played wouldn't morph into an ear-wrenching cacophony, and before sleep came soon after, he had the strongest thought that the violin, like him, put up with the harsh treatment if only for times like these, when it was shown a genuine appreciation and affection from Sherlock.


End file.
